


Promise

by RedRidingHood24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRidingHood24/pseuds/RedRidingHood24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles falls into a coma after another dream episode. Lydia and the pack need to wake him. Wake up, Stiles. This is just a dream.) I posted this on my Fanfiction.net account (IndieEyesxoox1) but I decided to add it here too (: Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Come Back

“Stiles? Remember when you had that panic attack in the locker room? Do you remember what you said to me after…after I kissed you? You said it was really smart of me. So…that’s how I’m going to do it. I’m going to try and be really smart again to get you out of this. I’ll stop this from happening. You’ll wake up.”

                The next think I know, I’m grabbing his hand. And he’s so warm. I know his eyes are warm behind his lids. He’s alive and he’ll come out of this. It’s my turn to save him.

                “I’ll figure it out. I’ll be like you. You always figure it out.”

                I would say I could’ve sworn I felt his hand move, but there was nothing. The only motion I feel is when I entwine our fingers. His knuckles push against mine and the grip is so tight, our blood is pumping together. I can feel his pulse and that is all I have of Stiles right now. He’ll find his way back.

                “I’ll come back.” When I stand up, it hurts. It’s like a web connected our hands, our bodies. I can feel the microscopic fibers pinching at my fingertips and maybe his as well. “Promise…”

               

 

 

                                “Why do you think it got this bad? Does Deaton know anything about this?” I sit in Scott’s desk chair. He’s been around the room 100 times, kicking things over and picking them up.

                “No no he doesn’t. He said it wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Allison and I are fine but for some reason it got worse for Stiles. And for the first time…I’m not sure if it’s ever going to get better…”

 

 

                **Two Weeks Earlier**

**(AN: In the next chapter!)**


	2. Warm

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

 

(Stiles’ POV)

 

 

                Physics is not what I planned on doing tonight. I planned on going to Lydia’s house with Scott to figure out where she stands on our chess board. Werewolf, Kanima, Darach and then Banshee? Not all are bad.

                I have a week to do this assignment. I could even use it as an excuse for Lydia’s help. If she wasn’t already “helping” Aiden since I cancelled our plans.

                My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach my hand in with no intention of answering it. Lydia’s school picture is showing up on the screen.

                “Lydia?” Of course it’s Lydia, dumbass.

                “Stiles, I’m coming over. I think I know where I stand.”

                She must have already been on her way because my bedroom door is cracked open, leaving me no time to clean up. “You’re not doing anything…weird in there, are you?” I reach for the handle and pull the door the rest of the way open.

                “Nope. Just the usual level of late-night Stiles weirdness.”

                “Good.”

                “So, what’s the verdict?” She sits across from me on the bed and I try to not get up and sit with her. She seems so warm even from this distance. Her hair is up in a ponytail, which I love. I love when I can see her doll-eyes and the small freckles in constellations on her neck. Her features are all smooth edges. Pink and cream and fierce black lashes. She is far from cold-blooded.

                “I’m starting to find the people before they die. I’m trying. I guess, being what I am…it could be a good thing. It feels good. I can’t be with the Darach on the board. I’m with Scott and Isaac and the others. And you.” I find myself leaning forward, really hearing her.

                “We’ll be partners in crime, ah solving. Crime solving. Partners in crime solving. Partners in solving crime.” It comes out as it always does, but she agrees.

                “Detective Stilinski and his Banshee sidekick.” I get up to sit next to her, finally. And she _is_ warm; all over she’s giving me warmth.

                “You work so hard…” Her hand is on my jaw. At this point, I’m not sure if I prefer her hair up. Right now I wish it was down and flowing, curls coming every-which way for me to tangle my fingers in.

                “Thank you.” She just nods and I know we are both lost. We know where she is on the board, but where am I? Am I affecting our group in a bad way or good? What if I’m slowing things down?

                “It’s so cold out, have you noticed it?”

                “No, I haven’t really been out. I’ve been doing…well trying to do this physics worksheet.” I gesture to the desk across the room and she makes a face.

                “That’s just an overview. You don’t have to do that.” Even with the cancelled plans, everything has turned perfect. “But if you _want_ to do it, I can help you.”

                “No, this is fine. You _are_ helping me. Right now.” I’m so tuned in to her. The small shuffles of her feet on the carpet, her nails clicking together; a nervous habit she’d developed at a young age. Lydia takes her hair down from its tie.

                “I wanna ask you…can I stay the night?” My eyes are open wide and I’m leaning forward again.

                “Well, of course, yeah. But…why? I mean, not that I don’t want you to, I do. I absolutely do. Definitely. Yes, you can stay over. Where…um …in my bed with me? Like do you want to sleep with me? No, I mean-.” She stops me.

                “Yes, Stiles. I get it. I want to stay and sleep in your bed with you. Yes or no?”

                I lean back on the bed. “Yes.” She leans back with me and I am suddenly thinking through a way to tell her she can’t stay, as much as I want her to.

                I know I’ll wake up screaming. She’ll see how bad it’s gotten.

                But we lay down on the pillows the right way. And she’s bundled in my arms, just as I’m wrapped in hers. We both seem so small. So small in the world as if werewolves don’t exist and my ten year plan of getting her to fall in love with me was too far thought.

                “You’re so warm, Stiles. You’re so good.” I can hear our clothes brush up and my pants twist around my legs too tight. But I wouldn’t wish our clothes away. Bare bodies together wouldn’t be the same sort of good as this.

                Lydia is coloring me in the hues of the sun. Red and pink, orange and yellow. She’s bright and easy. She is like riding your bike on a warm spring afternoon. She’s the time you walked through the woods and saw the sun peaking though the trees. I can feel the wisps of the warm colors through her fingertips on the inside of my wrist.

                Lydia Martin is a nebula forming new stars on my skin that warm me from the inside out with tingles of white-hot comfort. She does everything by doing nothing. And I know this is real.

                I’m falling asleep but I don’t care. I’m seeing my mother in the hospital and my father’s harsh words. The books I can’t read anymore. And I’m screaming, and she’s screaming. But it’s okay if I don’t wake up. I _was_ awake. It was real, if only for a while.


	3. Sweet Dreams

**Present Day**

 

(Lydia’s POV)

 

“I don’t know how to treat comatose patients. I’ve only recently started doing anything remotely advanced in this career.” Melissa stands in the doorway with her car keys dangling from her finger. “Besides, this isn’t even a normal coma, is it?” When Stiles drifted off into soundless sleep, I wanted to come with him. His screams were like mine, only horrific and painful. I don’t know what he was seeing. I’m aware of his sleep paralysis but I didn’t know that when he was under, he was getting farther and farther away. When I help him beneath the water, he was dying. This was happening to him.

                He still screams, high up in Derek’s loft, but he doesn’t wake.

                When I was screaming for him, I’m not sure if it was because I was scared or if it was because he is gone or at least going.

                Scott had been there immediately afterward to take him to Derek’s. Beacon Hills hospital was not fit for solving the mysteries of his condition.

                The ride to Derek’s is filled with silence. It’s about a twenty minute drive and it allows me too much time to think about Stiles. I’m driven by how quickly he let me in after Jackson was in the hospital. He really is a hero. Are we as opposite as I used to think we were?

                I’m put down by the image of him going under the water for his father. How I kept him down.

                The “darkness” around his heart is something I can’t put together There is so much good, so much light inside of him. I can’t see how any darkness could bleed through. But bad things come out of the dark, out of the shadows you never notice. It infects everything that is light and good.

                He has an occasional “waking” state in which he blinks his eyes but he is not cognitive.

                We’re not sure what he’s seeing when he opens them. Whether he opens them to us in the present or some dream-world day, he’s in there somewhere.

                He isn’t like Peter in a vegetative state. He’s responsive to our touch. Scott counts his fingers to him one by one. “One…two…” Stiles wiggles his third finger. “IT helps him know he’s awake…somewhere. Even though he keeps “waking up” somewhere else, it lets him know his body is really with us.”

                “We just need him to find a way to wake up here, in real time.” Derek comes to sit beside Stiles, placing a key to the loft in Stiles’ hand. “This is where you are. Come back to this feeling. You’re holding my key, Stiles.” I remember reading about comatose patients responding to familiar objects, voices, or stories. We’re giving him all of it, but he’s giving us nothing.

                I come to sit next to both of them and place my hand on Stiles’ leg. Sweat beads dribble down his nose and onto his chin. Derek grabs the ice filled towel on the bedside table and gently dabs it on Stiles’ forehead. He takes some ice in his hands until they are red from the cold and presses them against the sick boy’s neck to ease his temperature.

                “Try Deaton again. Maybe he found something.” Scott takes Isaac’s orders, knowing the rest agree, and unlocks his phone. This pack lives in a democracy. Scott’s alpha status doesn’t cause him to be demanding or power-crazy. He takes the advice of his betas and forms their opinions into a group based decision. They’re all here.

                Scott puts Deaton on speaker so we can all hear. “My research only says things about letting it ride out. He should resurface soon. It’s dark for Stiles right now. You gave power to the Nematon. You can’t take it back. There are methods of using the Nematon’s power as a sort of waking. But we don’t know what that power could do to him. It did horrible things to Jennifer than we cannot risk for Stiles.”

                “Thanks, Doc.” Scott hangs up the phone and looked up at me. “We just have to wait it out.” I’m not satisfied with just this. I lean over Stiles’ chest and place my hands on his jaw exactly how I had the night he lost himself. “Think about good things, Stiles. Your friends, family. Concentrate.” I press my lips to his and even though there is no movement under mine now, I rememeber when there was. My only reassurance of his life is the hot air gently coming from his nose against my cheek.

                “He’s not sleeping beauty.” Isaac sends me a confused look but Scott shoots him down along with Derek.

                “Anything could work.” Derek picks the towel back up. This has been his job for the last few days after Stiles had started running a fever. Derek gently holds Stiles’ back off of the table while I remove his shirt. We lay him back down careful not to jostle him too much.

                Derek presses the ice towels all over Stiles’ chest, desperately trying to cool him. We dry him off where his hot skin has melted the ice.

                Sheriff Stilinski brought some of his son’s clothes last week and had been staying here with Derek to care for Stiles. Stiles’ bed had luckily been set up by Melissa. Although she didn’t have enough knowledge in this area to treat Stiles, she had the nursing skills for setting up nourishments IV’s for him. I brush my hand over his hair. It’s strange taking care of someone who usually takes care of you.

 

(Derek’s POV)

 

                Everyone usually leaves around nine. The sheriff’s excuse for Stiles’ absence from school is chicken pox, as there are no records of him ever having them.

                Stiles’ fever has transformed in to him shivering violently. I’m worried about putting him in a hot bath, scared that when we take him out of the warm water, the cold air will force his temperature down even more. The sheriff and I mostly bathe him in clothes dipped in lukewarm water. But Stilinski was called on for a pileup on the highway so he has duties other than his son tonight.

                Usually I’ll hold Stiles up while Stilinski uses the cloth. I can’t do both so it will have to be blankets tonight.

I remember when he jumped back in the water for me when the Kanima surrounded the pool. He always makes every effort to help. If he were awake right now, I’d most likely punch him back into unconsciousness. He’d say something with a stutter and twitch his eyes. I’d punch him for ever sacrificing himself for his father. The town has plenty of cops. But then I remember the death of his mother. How he would have lost them both.

                I think of my mother, my father, and how it feels to have neither of them. I would have done the same if I’d had the choice. It would have taken all the light from him, unless this already has.

                I dress him in his warmest pair of sweatpants and remove his t-shit, making sure he’s pressed into me, sharing my heat. I replace his t-shirt with two of my long-sleeved shirts.

                I pick him up from the hospital bed and drag his IV along with me. I gently lay his body down on my bed and cover him with blankets. It’s finally raining outside, just like it feels like it should. The only lights on in the loft are the red button on the support beam and the small reading lamp beside the bed.

                “Do you hear that? IS it raining where you are? Come back, Stiles. We’ll be here when you do.”

                I can hear his heart beating and he’s not shivering anymore, but it’s still strange up here. Way up in the loft, it’s like a while other world. It feels as if there shouldn’t be any doors into or out of here. I don’t think I’ve left once.

                “I know we act like we hate each other, but you’re vital. I need someone to mess with. It gets a little lonely.”

                I grab his hand and hold tight to it. “Squeeze it back.” There is nothing “okay.”

                I get up and it feels a million miles away. I never planned on it being even slightly possible for a bond to form between us. It’s an invisible bond, but somehow, it’s there, and he’s the one who established it. “Sweet dreams.”

 

               


	4. Underneath

 

(Stiles POV)

               

                I’ve started my day five times. I can’t say it’s not nice having my mom in these dreams. Even though that’s all they are; dreams.

                “Sweetheart, I folded your clothes for you.” She winked at me from the door, holding the laundry basket.

                “Thanks, mom.” The three letter word feels like another language. I know that if I count my fingers, I’ll have an extra one. I try to see through her, but she’s so solid.

                I walk towards her quicker than I should and grasp the handles of the laundry basket over her hands. I can feel the softness of her skin beneath mine, the bone of her fingers. “You okay, honey?” My eyes burn and I almost feel the need to yawn.

                “Yes, absolutely.” I take the basket from her just as my dad walks by.

                “Early shift.” He flashes a smile and kisses my mom on the mouth. As soon as he leaves, she puts her hand on my arm.

                “Check underneath.” I’m left watching her skip down the stairs. I want to follow her, but this needs to go as smooth as possible. At least for the day.

                I sit the basket of clothes on my bed and take them out one by one. They’re crisp and folded so perfectly. I put a shirt to my nose and breathe deeper than I have in a long time. Lavender and soap. My father switched to normal detergent, no dryer sheets, after she died. I’d always get made fun of for smelling like lavender at school, but I loved it because that’s what my favorite person smelled like. I must’ve been the only one to notice when the smell was gone.

When I get to the bottom, I see a chocolate bar. My dad never liked me having sugar, seeing as it counteracted my medication, but she started doing this after the problems started. _“You can’t help it, Stiles. It’s just you. And I think that’s perfect.”_

                I open the chocolate and put it to my closed lips. I can smell it, feel the powder dust my mouth. I don’t dare look at my fingers. I don’t close my eyes. I don’t read the label.

                “Wanna miss school today?” She calls up from the kitchen. I can’t decide. I want to see if Scott is there. I want to know if he’s still a werewolf.

                But I don’t know where I’ll wake up tomorrow.

                “I’ll just go tomorrow.”

                “Don’t forget, Lydia is coming to tutor you tonight!”

               

 

(Lydia POV)

               

                There’s nothing here anymore. There’s no bright animated Stiles to listen to. Derek spends his hours in between by reading. Scott and I lay on either side of Stiles.

                “I miss you, buddy.” Scott adjusts Stiles’ pillow. I know I’m probably clutching Stiles’ hand too hard, but he’ll barely feel it.

                “There’s no giving up.” Scott’s phone rings after I finish talking.

                “Mom?” I can hear Melissa after Scott puts her on speaker phone.

                “Honey, I read that inducing hypothermia can wake someone from a coma. Can’t hurt to try, I think. I hope.”

                “We’ll try anything, mom. Thank you.”

                “Bring that boy back.” Scott presses the red button on the bottom of his phone and looks at Derek.


	5. Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for this chapter (and a lot of the others) was the song The Beauty Surrounds by Houses.

(Stiles POV)

                I can’t resist going downstairs to look at her again. “Thanks to me, your father’s diet is perfect. No fried foods, lots of veggies. I hope if someday something happens to me, you’ll keep him stuck to this. No curly fries.”

                I can feel it in my stomach, deep in the bottom of my heart and my lungs. It’s a ball of ice rolling around and hitting the most sensitive, warm parts of me.

                But I promise. I promise to keep everyone safe. It feels like she’s dimming quickly, even now. I don’t blink. She could be a flutter of my lids and go unnoticeable. I get my hair from her, my eyes, my scattering of moles. We both have one just to the side of our mouths on opposite sides.

                And finally, my arms surround her; lavender is everywhere until I’m blinded by it. My eyes are closed and I don’t care. I don’t care if that one “I love you” is lost in the wind or if she can’t return it. I only care that I’m feeling it, I’m warm because of someone else and I’m buzzing with her. I couldn’t have lost her. My mother’s hands, long fingers and soft palms, hold my neck and my side. ‘I love you too.” It’s almost as if she feels it the same way. I want to ask if she feels the pinch in her stomach that is almost acidic. I want to ask if she feels the shakiness in her bones, my bones, and the ground on which we stand. Can she feel how fragile the world has become, with or without her? I have no darkness here. I’m expecting her to rise up in light and clouds, gone again, but nothing more beautiful.

                When she left me long ago, it was so much less extraordinary than I’d expected. Being so small, so hopeful that my mother would rise up in that light, in all her goodness and warmth that she was, and watch over me. I was left, lost. But she was just empty, breathless. Even now, I cannot understand the lack of life and light that was given to her. There was nothing more than my mother. I’d spent many moments just staring at her in the hospital bed. This is what an empty person looks like. I wasn’t sure if I believed in souls or not, if _she_ was still there, only shut down. She had the closest thing to a soul.

                I can feel her voice shake her chest, her heart beat into my neck.

                “Honey, you haven’t hugged me this long in forever. I’d swear you fell asleep,” she laughs. I shake it off.

                “I just miss you, that’s all.” Her warm lips are on my forehead and her breath blows in my hair. I can feel the slight tackiness from her kiss on my skin when she pulls away.

                I sit at the table and watch her from there. “So, how are things with Lydia? She turns to me and winks.

                “Wonderful.” This comes out without my control.

                “I know,” she’s giddy; “I just love asking.” She’s packing fresh vegetables and fruits in Tupperware just like I do before school for my dad’s lunch. “Well, you should clean your room up a little before Lydia gets here. I’m trusting you.” My mother gives me a pointed look but she can’t hold back a beautiful grin. “I’m going to take this to your father like the good wife I am, and then go to Melissa’s for the day while she’s off work. I’ll say hi to Scott for you when he gets home.” I check the clock and it’s already four. I lose so many hours in dreams of my mother.

                After putting the Tupperware in her bag, my mom runs a hand across my head and down to the back of my neck. She did this when I was small. It was always to wake me up in the morning for school. It feels odd here, but I welcome it. She’s out the door and down the road in a glimpse and it’s just me.

                I straighten up my room for Lydia this time. I hear the heels clop up the stairs. “Hey,” she smiles as she bounds over to me. Her hair is up in that ponytail and it swings when she walks.

                I grab her side without knowing, following her lines, her edges. Her speech is shaky. “You missed school today.”

                “Did I miss anything important? Besides you, that is.” Her neck and cheeks turn sunset peach and she shakes her head, in turn shaking the blush away.

                “I was wondering though, are you skipping out on physics because you really aren’t good at it, or…other reasons?”

                “Other reasons.” She pulls out the physics textbook and scatters the notes she took across the bed. She slips her shoes off before having a seat next to me on the bed. I hold her hand unconsciously. I’m going to use every minutes I have in this dream.

                Lydia swipes her thumb across the apple of my cheek. “Eyelash.” She pulls that perfect Lydia smile and it almost makes her real. She’s those movies that look like they were filmed with an old digital camera. It feels like you’re seeing it out of your eyes, but it’s still coming through a lens.

                By this time, we’re standing up for her to explain the subject to me visually. I’m paying so much attention to her that I’m only getting pieces of what she says.

                And she notices. For the second time today, I close my eyes. My lips are under hers and I’m standing over her. I’m used to a bold Lydia, a Lydia who is a leader, Lydia who pulls me like a magnet. My hands are the commanders here. This is all a shadow, it’s my head, but I won’t fight it. I wouldn’t fall asleep while I was busy with Lydia’s body.

                “Are you sure?” I say this to her without knowing until it comes out.

                “I want this. With you.” Somehow, I know this Lydia is a virgin. My Lydia, however, is not. It’s almost like we’re carried by wind, like a dance, toward the bed. Parts of my body are cold. Only where she hasn’t touched. I can see all the colors in her eyes, colors I never noticed before.

                The pressure of her small body on top of mine was like a deep inhale. I can’t remember taking her clothes or mine off but I remember this: her teeth on my neck. The awareness of my hands lets me know I’ve done this before, in this dream. The newness of her body though, is a dream in its own. My eyes had been closed the entire time we flipped over. But I couldn’t see her this way. We flip back, and the stretch of her back is like the curl of a fair finger, pulling me in. The blush from earlier had grown to her stomach and her chest. She was as three dimensional as anything in this dream. I’m fully awake for all of this, watching her in the air like I’d never been fascinated. The dusty light in the window turns her hair to fire. Thank God I removed her hair tie. Here it was, her strawberry curls over her breasts, down her curving back, tickling my legs. My eyes prick, crying for a different but unknown reason than earlier. She’s celestial, a new light in my eyes. She looks down at me. I expect her to ask why I’m crying, but her skin is moist with tears as well. “I love you, Stiles.” And I’m sitting up, holding her against me. Her arms are secure around my neck. I close my eyes and put my face into her neck, feeling the world become smaller, making everything a little easier. I’ve never felt this real, this many sense.

                She twitches when she goes, and somehow I know to hold her closer when this happens. And I’m letting myself go. I can still see the sunset though her hair.

                We turn over and I’m still hovering. Her gentle fingertips hold my face while she kisses me full on the lips. I feel it when she pulls away. It’s a ghost on my mouth and I’m needing more. My lips run across hers, sticking a little, and up to her nose, leading my way to plant one kiss on her forehead. The light is still barely coming through the blinds and it’s like I’m watching from outside of my body.

                I can see the tiny hairs on her chest, her cheeks. Her eyelashes turn blonde in the light and they seem longer than ever. “I love you too.” My world seems so far away but I could blink and be there in a second. I’m not afraid, but for what it’s worth, waking up here would feel much better.

                I can’t pull away from the blue wispiness of sleep. It takes the energy from my body and my will to open my eyes to blink again. I see the colors behind my lids, still feeling Lydia’s fingers on my wrist.

 

(Derek’s POV)

                We’re pressing the ice all over him. He’s shaking like a tree in the wind but there are no signs of consciousness. No finger counting, no blinking.

                He inhales deep and the sheriff runs his hand over Stiles’ hair and down his neck. “Wake up, Stiles. It’s just a dream.”

 


	6. Waker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you like my writing, feel free to leave me prompts if you want :) Thanks for reading!

(Lydia’s POV)

 

                I’m surprising myself in not giving up hope for Stiles. I hope, wherever he is, he’s happy. Does he even know we’re trying to wake him?

                I find myself stroking his hair most of the time I’m here. I comb it after Derek washes it. And since it’s getting a little long, I make sure it says out of his face. It’s almost a job, something to keep my mind busy.

                There’s a twitch. His finger bends and spins circles on my hand resting on his cheek. “Stiles?” Only the circles. Can he feel me? “It’s me, it’s Lydia…” Nothing. Derek takes a seat next to me, pulling up a foot rest near the side of the bed.

                Stiles is a gorgeous thing. His face doesn’t change with the days, he doesn’t shift. It’s as if he was made to lie gently in this bed, to look like a perfect child and a strong man at the same time. He’s more of a man than I’d ever encountered. He’d gone from a scared, clumsy boy to a strong, clever being with a fire inside of him. He may not be supernatural, he may not have any power to assist us, but he has one thing, more than any of us: will. He’s a spark, _the_ spark in our fire. He is all of the stiches that hold us together. He is the strike of a match, a flare that water could never put out. He has his own oxidizer.

                And it hits me.

                His fire is raging too far, it’s too powerful. The only way to bring anything back, to salvage anything, is to douse the fire.

 

                (Stiles’ POV)

 

                I wake up. It’s so warm where I am but it feels as if I’m shivering. “Stiles?” It’s Lydia. I turn and she’s a pale sparkle in the dim light. I notice her bare skin and the messiness of her hair. I can feel the blankets tangled on my legs, no clothes.

                “Were you having a nightmare?”

                “What time is it?” She reaches behind her where she put her phone.

                “It’s 3:45 in the morning.” How could I have possibly woken up in the same dream? Unless it’s one of those rare times when you can wake up, fall back asleep and continue your dream. But am I awake or asleep?

                “Lay back. It’s too early.” Lydia’s hands reach up to my face and she gives me a lazy kiss on the mouth. I make circles on one of her hands with my finger. We turn on our sides and I wrap one arm around her. I put my chin on top of her head, smoothing down her wild hair. This time, I’m afraid to close my eyes. The other, far away Lydia would never spend a night with me like that, fragile and fluid all the same. But the far away Lydia is broken. The other me, the real me, is broken as well.

                Right now, if only in my head, I’m here with my mother, my father, and a Lydia that loves me in return. I’m here in the warm, no chessboard, no alphas, omegas, or betas. I’m shivering under the blankets and Lydia’s hands, but I still fall asleep.

                I’m up again, clothes still off and Lydia’s slight figure in my arms. She puts her head back, giving me an upside down kiss. “Good morning, sweetheart.” I don’t resist the actions or the speech in my dreams.

                “How was your night?” I stare down at her, not moving in case she disappears.

                She replies with a flip of her body, enveloping me in kisses from my lips to my neck.

               

                (Lydia’s POV)

 

                What if we dunk him in ice water? I mean, maybe he needs to be completely submerged.” Derek and I are sitting in his kitchen, still close to Stiles’ sleeping body.

                “You mean commit the sacrifice again? How would that work in reversing it? tI would just make things worse.” He’s becoming angry with me. We’d been in close proximity for weeks now and I already knew that Derek was not too fond of me. Bringing back Peter, even if it was against my will, was not easily forgiven. But I shoot back.

                “How could it possibly get worse? He’s basically dead now. He’s barely Stiles anymore. He would try to figure it, figure anything out, if it were us. How would you know anyway? You barely know him. You don’t even like him.” My tone has become accusing and my voice has been raised to the point of screeching. How dare he accuse me of not thinking through my plans enough? He hasn’t tried anything. He’s only kissing Scott’s ass by taking care of Stiles when no one else is available. He wants an Alpha.

                “Are you kidding me? Are you actually saying I don’t want him back? That I don’t really care? I’m the one who’s been working my ass off, trying to keep him comfortable, setting in his IV’s, giving him baths, while all of you are still going to school. I don’t know how you even get dressed in the morning, how you even manage to live your lives while he’s here, losing his mind. He’s just a kid. And if you think having one useless idea is going to help, then you’ve lost yours too.” When he yells, he backs off, as if he’s hearing himself. “You look to him and you ask for things, but you never give him anything in return. You’re a leech, Lydia. And he knows that but he keeps going back.” He’s soft now, but his words come like burning arrows.

                He knows me as much as he knows Stiles. I don’t back down. “You’re so cruel to him. He’s sensitive and he’s trying but you put him down, just like you’re doing to me. And I am not a leech. Why do you think I was with him that night? I was helping him with homework and I stayed over. He knows-“

                “He’s in love with you, Lydia!” It’s like he pulled the air and the words from my throat. “You were helping yourself. You wanted to know about the chessboard. You don’t see how he watches you? How he spends so much of his time look at you? And it’s all for nothing. It’s all so you can go on with your Lydia ways, being oblivious to everything around you and dressing up just to tease everyone that will never have a chance with you.”

                “That’s not-“

                “No,” his voice is stern and rumbles the building. “He gives you all these things, all this admiration and love and you act like you don’t notice. I would have noticed even if he hadn’t told me. I spent the summer with him, Lydia, trying to track Isaac, Boyd, and Erica. Why do you think he had a key to the loft? Because we trust each other. Because I return his friendship, even if you don’t see it.” He sneers at every reference to me. I remember Derek placing the key in Stiles’ hand, squeezing for him to come back.

                “And now you’ll probably try to bring him back only for that purpose. Only because now you know that you have one more person wrapped around your finger, one more person to tease and show off and know how much they want you. You’ll keep taking and taking until there’s nothing left. They’re your dolls, Lydia.” He’s stepping closer to me, steam rolling off his shoulders, veins popping in his neck. I don’t tell him he’s wrong.

                “I’m trying.”

 

                (Scott’s POV)

 

                I feed the cats for Deaton while he digs out more of his books. I easily lift the food bag now, rather than a year ago when I pulled it across the ground. The metal clang of cats pushing up against the barred doors of their cages seems so loud with my sensitive ears. “Hi, kitties.” They still hate me. It’s the dog smell. Stiles’ cat ripped me up until I stopped going there and he started coming to my house more often. The low rumbling growl in their bellies makes me shiver. I fill the lineup of bowls on the windowsill. One by one I quickly open each cage door and slide a bowl in. Most of the cats take a swing at me, but the rest press up against the backs of their cages; hair standing up and hissing towards my face.

                Making sure all of the cages are closed, I carry the less heavy bag over to the shelves and stuff it in. I open the door and continue in the lobby and into the main care room. Deaton wheels the cold metal table over to the farthest wall. It is stacked with books, two open face in front of him. “The first one is about the dream states that can be induced with sacrifice. The second is possible cures. At least ones that have been tested, and that are known.”

                “Stimulating the gray area of his brain may wake him, according to this.” Deaton points to a highlighted selection in the second book. “This is because they cannot respond. They may be sensing us, but they have no way of letting us know.” I think back to Stiles touching our hands but Deaton beats me to the punch. “But he’s already been responding. That’s where the first passage comes in.” I look to the blue highlighted section in the first book. _“Dreamer may wake with reversal. Wakers may pull dreamer back whilst holding dreamer down. Dreamer responds to wakers in dream state. Waker who pulls dreamer back may reverse the dream.”_ Deaton reads the passage aloud and shuts the books.

                “Lydia.”

 

                (Stiles’ POV)

 

                Lydia left about an hour ago, but not without a long, sweet kiss. Each one buried me deeper in the dream. It’s all becoming liquid, blue and yellow and red with Lydia and my mother.

                I take the sleepy walk downstairs, finally dressed and showered. “Good morning.” My dad smiles at me with his uniform on. He’s sitting at the table with a bagel and a tall glass of orange juice.

“Mom?” I turn and she’s standing at the stove with a hand on her hip.

                “Just in time!” She flips a pancake on a plate and slides it across the table to my dad. She quickly spins back to the stove to flip another. “Yours is almost ready. Lydia didn’t want to stay for breakfast?” My mother turns and winks in my direction. The waft of aroma from the pan hits me like a brick.

                Chocolate chip. _“Saturdays are chocolate chips, Sundays are blueberry.” Six year old me, sitting at this same table, waits for his mother to come downstairs._

_“I know, I know…its Sunday.” She smiles at him. He can still taste the sweetness of yesterday’s’ chocolate chip pancakes on his tongue. “How many?” Little Stiles hops up from his chair, tipping it over in the process, and runs circles around his young mother._

_“Two! Two!” He sings the fridge door open and pulls out a quart of milk and drinks it straight._

_“Hey hey! None of that.” He keeps his smile and returns to the table with a proper serving of milk._

                _“Hey, kiddo.” His wrinkle free father rubs a hand over his innocent son’s head as a ‘good morning. She slides the two blueberry pancakes onto Stiles plate, puffy and hot_.

 

                I return to the present and on shaky legs, walk to my usual chair and pull it out.

                When she puts my pancakes on a plate and slides them over to me, my dad reaches over and steals an edge. She smacks his fingers away. “Nu uh! It’s bad for you.” She takes a seat with her breakfast, carefully pouring a glass of juice.

                “How come he gets two?” He rolls his eyes and points at me.

                “He always gets two.”

 

                (Derek’s POV)

 

                “It’s just you and me tonight.” Lydia left a little while ago to sleep at home, and I’m more than glad. “I don’t know why you treat her like you do.” I’m relaxing next to Stiles on an office chair I pulled from upstairs. I’m resting my face on his hand and I start talking without a filter.

                “I guess I don’t understand why you treat me the way you do, either. I’m not that nice to you. It’s nice seeing a smile every day, though. I guess you’re just a good person.” It’s getting chilly outside and it starts to come in the window after a while so I move to get up. “Yep,” I sigh. I tuck his still body under the blankets and push the chair into the wall.

                “Derek?” I turn quick but the sound didn’t come from Stiles. At least not the unmoving Stiles.

               

 

                _I’m back in the summertime when I stood in the doorway of the ruins of the old Hale house. I hear the obnoxious horn of a certain blue Jeep behind me. “Derek? Need some help? Got the paint.” Stiles is falling out of his Jeep, carrying a gallon of paint that’s throwing him off balance._

_He pops the lip open and reveals scarlet red goo. “Really?”_

_“I told you…I got you covered, buddy!” I notice he changed his clothes to a white t-shirt and running shorts. He dips a brush into the paint too far and slaps it on the door, right over the Alpha pack’s symbol. A giant red splatter explodes in Stiles’ face and he puts his lips out and over to the side. “Wonderful. Yes! I was going for that just-been-maimed look. Love it.”_

_“Are you stupid or just careless?” I put the brush in the paint and stroke it on the door, smoothing out his blob. “Why else would you change clothes like that unless you thought there was risk of getting paint on them?”_

_He just curls his lip up at me in response. Pathetic. We’re both painting the door and our elbows rub together. His paint flicks across my face. “Sorry sorry.” He’s honest. “We can’t both fit, big guy. Let me do it. You’re too rough with the brush.”_

_This isn’t what I planned on doing anyway, so I step back. Even when he tries to help, he’s clumsy about it and something about that just makes my body tense up. It makes him fragile. It makes him just one more person that I have to protect. Werewolf or not, he’s pack. The only reason I don’t smack him is so I’m in with Scott. I cannot be an Omega. For Scott to be beta, under my power, I can’t murder his friends, no matter how annoying._

_“Make yourself useful and tat me up.” He points to his back with his thumb and continues painting. I roll my eyes but get up anyway. I dip the paintbrush again and pull his t-shirt tight to his back. The bold red stands out against the white of his shirt. I start gently painting on his shirt, being absolutely precise with every stroke. My mouth moves but I don’t hear what I’m saying, lost in the motion._

_“I can’t do this by myself. They’re here, and they’re strong. I’m not strong enough without a pack. I can’t do all this.” He is facing me now_ and his arms wrap around my body, barely joining at the back. His arms are shaking _. Am I that intimidating?_

_“That’s why I’m helping you. No one can do everything themselves.” Slightly, I’m returning his embrace._

_“Big Alpha, not so scary.” He pats the top of my head, as high as he can reach. Stiles spins back to the door. When he’s completely turned back, I see my painting. A scarlet red triskelle stretches across his back, between his shoulder blades. It’s perfect and even just like mine and I wonder how much time I spend on it, how long I was talking._

_“I know it looks great back there, but what about the door?”” He steps back, presenting his finished work and I’m cracking. I pull a smile at this remark and squint at him._

_“It looks terrible, Stiles. Your backside and the door.” He puts his hands on his hips like a pissed off woman. He talks about Lydia like she’s’ the sun, but he’s much brighter than her._

_I realize I never look up unless Stiles is here. I lift my head and it feels strange. I’m used to seeing everything at eye-level. I see the light in the trees, the birds flying through the branches. I see more than my destroyed home and the grayness of the ground. It’s as if everything from my height down is blue and gray, and everything above me is pure light. It’s yellow and red and orange. My chest isn’t being pressed down anymore. A breath pushes through me like wind and clears me of all my dust._

                But I’m pulled from the yellow and put back into dull black and white. It’s not the whiteness of his t-shirt but the whiteness of a sickly hospital. My reverie of all his colors is still in him somewhere. And maybe I’m being selfish. Maybe I’m using him only to see the sun. But being selfless all of the time can be exhausting, deteriorating, even. But maybe that’s what he is made for; giving.

 

                (Lydia’s POV)

 

                I return to Derek’s loft early in the morning, trying my hardest to forget what we said to each other yesterday, but one line won’t go away: “he loves you, Lydia!” Was he right? Was I too blinded with myself that I didn’t notice?

                Scott is sitting on the edge of the bed and Derek is across from him, perched on the back of the couch. “Uh, I wanted to wait until you got here. Deaton found something. It’s kind of for you.”

                I sit my bag down on the floor and continue over to them. “What is it?

                “The book said that the person who held him under can bring him back. Just like the sacrifice. It’s a reversal. We have to drown him. Well, you do. You’re his waker.” I can see that Derek believes my idea now, because Scott believes it. He trust Scott, and so do I.

 

                (Stiles’ POV)

 

                “Skip work today, stay home with me.” My mother sits in my father’s lap as he folds up the paper. They share a private kiss and I wonder how long it’s been since my real father has had a real kiss.

                It’s like I’m watching a movie on an old projector. The setting is the sunny suburbs. The Sheriff has to be on duty in an hour, but his sweet fiancé wants to run away with him and make beautiful mistakes.

                “Crime awaits.”

                “Tell crime you’re busy.”

                She gives him one last sneaky kiss and I almost look away but I can’t remember the last time I saw this. The whole scene is honey and a summer day. Young me would have gagged at seeing my parents kiss and tried to forget it. But older me, run down me, is trying to create memories of my aging father with laugh lines and the tightness of his smile beneath my mother’s lips. If I could give this motion picture to him now, him without my mother now, I would. I would play it back for him a million times, until he started to feel it.

                I can stay here. I can keep waking up here. I can wake up tomorrow and have Sunday blueberry pancakes and live in the sweetness of my bright old home and the immortality of my mother.

                He stands up and she does too. She reaches up to straighten the sheriff’s nametag, and I don’t dare read it, for fear of jumbled letters. I hope to God it says Stilinski.


	7. Whispers

 

 

                (Lydia’s POV)

                “Alright, kiddo.” Sheriff Stilinski groans as he lifts up Stiles’ legs. Isaac is holding Stiles under the arms, getting ready to pick him up.

                “Just let me.” Derek puts an arm under Stiles’ knees and another under his shoulders, smoothly lifting him off the bed.

                I reach over and place Stiles’ hands together so his arms don’t hang and bang against anything.

                “Where are we taking him?” Derek asks, unfazed by Stiles’ weight.

                “Deaton,” is all Scott says while he grabs fresh clothes for Stiles. We’ll have to warm him up quickly after we dunk him, unless he stays under as long as him, Scott, and Allison did the first time.

                Scott had called Deaton an hour ago, telling him to prepare one metal tub and mistletoe.

                In the parking lot of Derek’s loft, we gently lay Stiles in the back of his jeep. “Remember this piece of junk?” Derek lays a blanket over Stiles and hops in the front. I climb in the passenger’s seat, hoping to talk to him, but something is creeping up the back of my neck.

               

(Stiles’ POV)

 

                I decide to go to school today. I’ve been waking up in the same place since Friday. Monday morning welcomes me with Coach standing at my locker. “Stilinski! You missed practice on Friday. Don’t tell me you’re becoming Greenberg. I can barely handle one of him.”

                “Got it, Coach. Sorry. Had this twenty-four hour thing.”

                “Yeah well, don’t miss again. And don’t breathe on me for God’s sakes, I don’t need the flu.”

                Coach stalked off with a roll of his eyes and the flick of his hand. I was wondering where Scott was until I saw him at his locker with a girl with long dark hair. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized it was Allison. No sacrifice, no ‘actual-Beacon-Beacon Hills,’ no Kira.

                “Hey, buddy. Where were you Friday? By the way, got that ‘Anchor’ thing under control.” He looks towards Allison and his eyes glow yellow. Beta. No Darach, no true Alpha.

                “So all is…all is well… here?” When would I get used to the idea that this was a dream?

                “Yeah, dude. You okay?” Scott places a hand on my shoulder and his eyebrows draw down.

                “Absolutely. Seen Lydia anywhere?”

                “Library.” Allison pipes up with a shy smile and leans up against the locker. The Argents are still the Argents: hunters who’ve made peace; we protect those who cannot protect themselves.

                I take a seat next to Lydia at a far back table in the library. “Having fun?” She looks up at me with dark lashes and I can see the sun again. Her strawberry hair is hanging down in loose tousles, the front pulled back into two thin braids, connected at the back. Her lips are painted bubblegum pink again, like two blossoms of a plump new flower.

                “Just studying, if you call that fun.” Without thinking, I wrap an arm around her small waist and pull her into my side. I’m getting too used to this dream. My usual Lydia would tense up, but let it go, if I was ever brave enough to make the move.

                Usual Lydia is a fragile piece in a Jenga game. You can pull a few pieces out, but then you have to start being careful. You slowly work a piece out of the stack, praying it doesn’t cause the whole thing to tumble.

                “Thank you. For Friday night.” She answers me by planting a gentle kiss on the side of my mouth.

                “I would have stayed for pancakes but I was too afraid your parents would catch me smiling like an idiot. I went to the mall with Allison. I got you a present.” She smiles, biting her lip and reaches in her bag. A woven dream catcher is strung on her long fingers. “Because I want you to have sweet dreams.”

                I kiss her forehead and take the dream catcher into my own hands. I can only hope it doesn’t catch _this_ dream, that it lets me stay here.

                “I have to study some more tonight, but do you maybe want to come over tomorrow? Spend the night?”

                What reason would I have to decline? “Of course I would.”

                               

                I follow my normal schedule and slide into my seat in economics for sixth period.

                Scott takes a seat beside me, Danny behind him. My classes are as boring as ever, not challenging until gets to physics.

                “Stilinski! You’re up first. First paragraph, come on, I don’t have all day.” Coach leans on my desk and I turn to the book. I planned on starring at the stain on his shirt until the end of the class like I’d done all day.

                I stutter a little but give in and look at the page. I could back out, it’s just a dream, but if I want to stay here, I have to cooperate with my surroundings.

                I’m afraid of the letters. I’m afraid of them being jumbled, sliding down the page, demanding me to admit to the dream.

                “Taking the time to _luatavee_ and _nthki_ about _ouyr_ situation…” I skipped my jumbled words and tried to go on but my voice began to shake.

                “Ah coach…I don’t think I can…”

                I can feel my heart leap. My body is cold as ice. The tops of my forearms feel as though there is a breeze of air running over them. It’s as if my lungs are trying to breathe on their own, forcing themselves against my chest in an attempt to expand more than the space allows. I feel my eyes start to roll… This is a panic attack, Stiles. Just breathe, slow down. Can you have panic attacks in dreams? Dreams. This is just a dream. It’s a dream, it’s a dream. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. This is all wrong.

                               

                (Lydia’s POV)

 

                The tingles creep up my neck like tiny fingertips, cold and sticky. Whispers come past my ears so quickly I could swear they blew my hair up. I can barely make it out…It’s there on the tip of my tongue…And I want to scream. I’m holding my breath so tightly my face is heating up.

                _“Wrong.”_ The whispers graze my ears, repeating and repeating. _“Something’s wrong.”_ As an immediate reaction, I snap my head in the other direction to look at Stiles in the backseat. His body twitches and his eyebrows pull together. His blankets rise and fall as he breathes quicker.

                “Derek…” He slows the jeep and turns his neck back to see Stiles’ labored breathing. “Go faster, drive faster, we have to get there now!”

                “We’re fine, he’s done this before.”

                “No, something is wrong…” I let out the gust of air I’d been holding. My scream pierces the windows and Derek loses control of the wheel for a second to cover his ears. The scream dissipates as my air runs out. I’m left feeling completely exhausted. I turn to see Stiles’ hands on his ears.

               

                (Stiles’ POV)

               

                I’m halfway home when I slam on the brake. My hands shield my ears from the high pitched wail that vibrates my bones. Lydia.

                It’s as if she’s in my jeep with me, like the sound got trapped. I push the gas down, heading home, knowing what I need to do.

                She’s calling me back, waking me up.

                I open the door at around five. My parents aren’t home yet, so I lay in their bed. I suppose I could dream them home, if I knew how, and if I wanted any less time in this warm bed that smells like _two_ people.

                I can’t wake up. I can’t leave my dad without her. Hear him crying, alone in this bed on the other side of the wall. I can’t leave her arms, her lavender smell. I can’t go back to the memories of her cold hospital hands in my hair, sick and deteriorated.

                “I miss you, mom.” It comes out like a whispered sob. I had to try it out. I close my eyes and feel the tears from each eye run quickly down my temples and onto my ears, tickling them and making my hair wet but I leave them.

 

                It hurts.

                My chest hurts like there’s a crack in my ribs.

                I let them out.

                I let out the crackly whimpers and sobs and gasps for breath. I hadn’t felt this pain in ages; the good pain; the crying, the purging of stress for her. “I can’t leave you…it’s too hard… it’s all too hard and I can’t handle it. I’m not strong enough. I’m just…Stiles. Remember when none of that mattered? Well it does now. I can’t leave. I can’t help anyone there. It hurts me too much. I didn’t notice until now. I miss you. I need you, mommy.” It’s grown to the scarier crying. It’s built up to that part where it’s all whining and hugging yourself. I’m clutching my arms and shaking even after the sobbing dies down. Is this what she felt like when she knew she was leaving? When she couldn’t do anymore, make anymore memories?

                I’m seeing myself from the foot of the bed. My body grows into my father in a deputy’s uniform, then a sheriff’s. I’m watching him from the other side of the room. He’s clutching his sides, thinking about his son at school, it’ll be Saturday soon, she won’t be there. The whine that breaks from his lips is like a stab to the chest.

                “Why? I needed you…he needs you Claudia…” His eyes pinch closed and he sucks a breath in. He’s a little older now, my dad’s current age. “Stiles…” My stomach drops, my mouth grows tight. I left him. This is my choice. She didn’t have one. He already sleeps in an empty bed. I can’t leave him with an empty nest. I can’t let him walk around alone in that cold echo-y house, searching the cabinets for whiskey. He’s fading.

 

                (Lydia’s POV)

 

                Derek pulls Stiles’ trembling body from the backseat and throws him over his shoulder. When we enter the main lobby, Deaton has a table ready for him. Derek gently lays Stiles’ body on the metal surface, wheeling him into the care room.

                “How are we going to get him in the tub? He can’t exactly step in. And Lydia has to be the one doing it. We can’t risk screwing it up.” Isaac leans over Stiles, one questing eyebrow raised.

                “I’ll lower the table and she’ll slide him in. Just be careful not to spill too much of the mistletoe.” Deaton is as scarily calm as usual. I nod my head and prepare my shaking arms by gripping Stiles’ shoulders as I did the first time around.

 

                (Stiles’ POV)

 

                I hear the door open and I blink away my father’s weak body in the bed. My legs wobble with every step I take down the staircase.

                “Hey honey, sorry I’m late. I went to the station and had dinner with your dad.” She shined her teeth at me and hung her coat on one of the dining room chairs. My father walks in behind her and does the same. “I’ll make yours right now. You’re probably hungry.”

                “You know what, mom, its fine. I had a lot of tests today and I really just want to take a nap.”

                “Leaving so soon.” She sighs and gives my hair a shuffle. “You do look tired sweetie _.” I don’t want to leave this soon. But I have to. You need to understand that._ I remember her words in the hospital room on her last night with me.

                I envelope her small body in my arms and stuff my face into her soft sweater. “I love you.”

                “I love you too,” she says and I sneak in an ‘I’ll miss you’ before she can hear me.

                One last slide of her hand to the back of my neck and I’m watching them from the stairs. They share a kiss, their noses bumping until they laugh and pull each other in for a hug. I remember for my father.

 

 

                (Lydia’s POV)

 

                Deaton presses his hand down on the pedal located beneath the base of the table. It sinks to the ground, just barely level with the ice bath. I lean my body over the tub and grab hold of Stiles’ clothes, sliding him in to the water. It splashes a little at first until it settles around him, his body buoying until I stabilize him.

 

                (Stiles’ POV)

 

                I lay on my back, starring up at the ceiling, wishing for the tiles to fall and crush me so I don’t have to do this myself. I put my hands together on my stomach and it feels too unnatural, so I turn on my side and shut my eyes. I’ll see her again, I suppose, if I even resort to believing in those things again someday. “See you soon.” The blue strings of sleep turn red and tie around my limbs again and I lose consciousness.

                               

                (Lydia’s POV)

                I move behind Stiles’ head and grip him harder than I should. Deaton turns all of lights off except for the lamps over the sink. “Okay, now.” I look down, slightly turning his floating body until he’s almost sitting in the tub. He automatically holds his breath as I dunk him.

                The water swallows him whole. It’s dark underneath and I can only see his pink lips part while bubbles come up.

                Pieces of mistletoe sit on his face. Time passes, more time, tearing my patience apart.

                His eyelids lift. Amber circles stare straight up into mine like he knows, like he controlled this. I look up at Deaton to ask if I can bring him up and he nods. I slowly pull at his shirt and his face emerges from the water, then his shoulders. He’s trembling and mistletoe is sticking in his hair, on his cheeks. He’s awake.

                Stiles lifts up his hands, opening his eyes wide and counts his fingers out loud. Scott continues with him. “Eight…nine…ten…” He lets out a puff of air and a small laugh that is soon suffocated with a shiver. Derek glances up at me, accepting my theory. Stiles’ hand slips into mine and the world is warm again.

                “Pull him out.” I get my voice back and Scott and Derek reach into the water.

                “Can you stand?” Stiles nods at Derek and balances himself on the counter.

                “What’d I miss?”


	8. Epilogue

                **Epilogue**

 

 

                (Stiles’ POV)

 

                My normal day has everything to do with the buzzing I feel in the back of my neck. Everything to do with the whoosh of _whoa_ through my head that almost feels audible. There’s nothing new about this, it’s just alarming. It comes without warning.

                It’s almost a blow to the head; a bullet in my spine that wants to blind me with the light from the flash of it soaring through the air. It takes a few seconds to recover, but once I do, I forget.

 

 

                “How many?” My dad flips a chocolate chip pancake in the pan.

                “Two, of course.” He puts them on a plate and slides it to me, then makes one for himself. Before I stab a bite, he reaches over with his fork. “Don’t even think about it.”


End file.
